Fearsome
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Set after episode five, Grace returns to Roland's office at the end of the day.
1. Chapter 1

**Here is the Grace/Roland story I promised you. It's set after the most recent episode (spoiler ahoy!) and espouses my whimsical headcanon (be warned). Hope you like- I might be open to the possibility of writing more, but please understand it's term time and I'm quite pressed at the minute. **

It was darkening as she closed the door behind her. In the candlelight of Roland's office, she put her lantern out, placing in down on the table beside the door.

He looked up from his desk at the sound of her entering, saw who it was, continued reading his notes with the touch of a smile on his lips.

"All quiet?" he asked her.

"As it can be," she replied, clasping her hands nervously, drawing her thumb firmly along the inside line of her palm, pressing the pad of her thumb hard against the bone for a second, "We are pressed without Sister Livsey."

"Don't think I don't know that," he reminded her tiredly, sitting up in his chair to look at her, letting out an audible sigh, "But that's really beyond our control now," he told her, "I'll not lie, I'll be glad when Sister Quayle's leave is over, for all our sakes."

She took a deep breath to stop herself replying without thinking, hoping we would not notice. But his eyes narrowed just a fraction, in spite of her efforts.

"What is it?" he asked her.

Her thumb was pressed flat against her palm, her finger pressing down against her knuckles.

"Nothing," she managed.

He was still watching.

"You look tired," he told her, not unkindly, a concern that he did not have to speak in his look, "I had hoped things would get easier for you when you weren't having to nurse Major Ballard night and day, but if anything-... Forgive me for saying," he asked her when she did not reply.

"You are well within your rights, Sir."

His expression flickered, the cold formality of her tone startling him and he looked at her with a more unguarded concern now.

"What is it, Grace?" he asked her, standing up, resting the tips of his fingers on the surface of his desk, "Did the major say something to upset you?"

"The major said many things," she replied curtly, "Very few of which had the power to upset me."

There was a long pause. He watched her softly, waiting for her to say more.

"Roland, you don't seem to realise I grew up among far more fearsome things than tigers and elephants," she told him at last. She could not bring herself to lift her eyes from the floor, could not meet the worry and confusion in his eyes.

"Like what?" he asked her, "Tell me."

"Like prejudice, and hatred," she told him, her voice quivering, "Like men with guns."

She heard him exhale sharply.

"Grace-..."

"The major did bring me some news in fact," she told him, looking up, as matter-of-factly as she could.

"Oh?" he asked.

"Some news that was rather upsetting. He told me of the death of a rather dear old friend."

"Oh, Grace, I'm sorry," he told her, "I'm sorry I imposed myself-..."

"You don't understand," she told him sharply, finding tears stinging her eyes, "A _dear _friend."

There was a silence.

"I was going to have his child. Once."

Another silence. She had no idea what had compelled her to confess to him, only that the words were out of her mouth and there was no pulling them back now, no more embracing them secretively, no more hiding in them.

"There was a chance that it would have... come out," she told him, the shadow of Margaret and her impending return hovering ever behind her eyes, "It was better that you had it from me. I know I can trust you to keep my confidence, even if it does alter your view of me."

She fell silent, and her eyes returned to the floor. She could not speak any more.

"I can't say that it was something I expecting to hear," he admitted, he was closer now, the change of direction in his voice made her look up, her eyes looking for him, "I'm still sorry," he insisted softly, moving to stand before her.

"Thank you," she muttered, not looking at him.

"You don't want my pity, do you?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "I don't."

There was a silence. He just stood before her, waiting for her to be able to speak again. His body blocked out the light and she stood there in his shadow, smoothing the line of her palm with the pad of her thumb almost distractedly.

"The most frightening thing," she told him quietly, "Was that in our house the only passion than was ever on show was anger. I thought that's what strong emotion was, just anger. Amar showed me that it could be love as well."

"Grace-..." his breath whispered in a harsh breath across her face. Somehow it managed to soothe.

And then he took her hand, cautiously, tentatively, reached out and took it from where it fidgeted with the other and just held in between both of his. The movement startled her, she looked at him in confusion and her breath hitched, only in time to capture air before his lips pressed gently against hers. The kiss was brief and chaste and he withdrew, looking rather abashed, still holding her hand.

"I love you, Grace," he told her softly.

"I know you do," she replied equally quietly, "Do you understand that I couldn't have returned your feelings until I knew about Amar?"

He nodded.

"Of course."

Her free hand reached out, touching his chest carefully. She could feel his breathing under his shirt, his heartbeat. She smiled at its fluttering. He released her other hand as she gently pulled it away, only to rest it on the top of his arm. Drawing herself closer to him, she encouraged him to put his arms around her. She could not believe they were here like this, that he had said what he had after what she had told him. Carefully, she leaned forwards and returned his kiss.

**Please review if you have the time, I'd love to know what you think. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I wrote more. I hope you like it. It's a very strong T now, take warning. **

They were both self-conscious of the fact that they were standing in his office, of the uncurtained windows and the lights burning brightly around them. He had a hold of her hand, and looked at her, asking her permission to lead her. She nodded briefly and followed the gentle tug on her arms as he lead her through the little door that lead to his private quarters.

He closed the door behind them, and pulled her into his arms kissing her soundly. She gasped quietly in surprise but found she was enjoying his kiss too much for her train of thought to be sustained for long enough for her to utter anything, of protest or otherwise. If nothing else, she liked the certainty of his arms around her, she liked the firmness of his chest pressed gently against hers.

His hands moved over her hair, coming to nurse's cap. She nodded breathlessly.

"Take it off," she told him quietly, "It's alright."

He let it fall to the floor and she felt his fingers in her hair, running through it. There were many things about this that she liked, she reflected, his hot breath on her neck, the weight of her hair falling out of his hands and down her back, the way he softly nuzzled his face against her cheek. She leant away just a fraction. His eyes were closed. She did not know the word to describe the look on his face. It took her breath away for a second. He was... reverent, almost. He looked almost at peace. She touched his face carefully with her hand.

"Roland," she said.

"Grace."

Again, her breath hissed a little at the way he said her name. He spoke its meaning into every sound. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. His arms encircled her body again.

Her job meant that she was well appraised of how to remove a man's uniform; unfortunately, he had been given no such preparation. She guided his fingers gently, smiling softly at his slight fumbling, resting her hand softly on his wrist to stop him trembling.

"It's alright," she whispered again, "It's only you and me."

He let out a long breath.

"I've thought about this for so long," he confessed, parting another of her buttons.

"Have you?" she asked.

He nodded silently, undoing the clasps around her waist. With a gentle shrug of her shoulders, her dress pooled around her feet. She stepped cleanly out of it, holding on to his hand.

"Come to the bed?" he asked.

She nodded, following him.

His bed was narrow, and he courteously tried to take up as little space as possible, leaving her almost two thirds of the space. She slipped under the covers beside him, allowing him to wrap his arms back around, enjoying the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers, the blankets wrapped around them both.

She moaned softly as his tongue slipped into her mouth, gently exploring. His hands were touching her sides, and then her breast over her corset. She groaned again, her lips turning away from his.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied huskily.

Her hands travelled up his chest, under his undershirt, drawing it over his head and off. She sat up briefly, undoing her corset so that it came apart in his hands. They lay back down, their chests pressed against one another. She could feel his breathing against hers, feel his arousal against her thigh. She tilted her head back, giving him better access as he kissed her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair, hers was all over his pillow.

Her mouth fell open in a long gasp as she felt his hand slip inside her underwear and touch her intimately. He was watching her intently, her eyes fell shut, almost unable to bear it. His name slipped from her lips.

"Roland." 

"Grace," he kissed her forehead in reply, his finger slipping inside her.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, wanting him as close as possible and needing something to make herself feel as if she wasn't about to fall away from the edge of the earth.

She had felt like this before. It was wonderful to remember this feeling. She could hardly believe she was here with Roland, like this, but it was wonderful to remember this feeling, to have this feeling of raging bodily love again. She keened as he pressed the pad of his thumb against her, she arched her back and her neck, clutching helplessly at him as she tumbled off the edge. His arms held her tightly as she shook violently.

Still shaking a little, she kissed his lips slowly, sensually, her grip loosening. He stroked her hair, gently, taking in the features of her face, planting another tender kiss on her forehead. She nuzzled her mouth against his chest.

"Make love to me, Roland. Please."

**Please review if you have the time, I'd love to know what you think. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for your reviews. **

She goes back the next night, just as she did the time before. She does not know what she expects to happen, as much as anything it is her curiosity that makes her raise her hand and knock on the door. His call to come in is almost distracted, and she realises why, music swells into her ears as she opens the door and stays as she closes it behind herself. He has the gramophone on, listening to the record he played to try to calm Prentice. She takes in the sight of him the moment before he turns to see who it is. Leaning back against the small bookcase by the wall, in his shirtsleeves, his hand resting on his brow. And then he turned, saw it was her, and smiled.

"Hello, Grace," he murmured softly.

She smiled, and he did too, taking a step towards her. He looked tired, he had done all day, but that shouldn't be a surprise, God only knew, it wasn't as if either of them had had anything like a night's sleep. The day had been long, and the temptation to smile knowingly, to whisper something to him, or to brush her hand against his for a second or two had been strong. She wondered if it had been the same for him, and thought it must have been, a second later when his arms wrapped around her and engulfed her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, his hands held on to the small of her back, they came back together so naturally after a day at arm's length and the uncertainty it had held. She heard him exhale deeply.

"I wondered if you would come back," he admitted at last.

"What made you think I wouldn't?" she asked in reply.

He swayed a little, moving their bodies together, half-dancing to the slight crackles in the record.

"I don't know," he answered a moment later, "Fear, I suppose."

"You wanted me to come?" she asked him, needing to hear the confirmation.

"Of course I did," he breathed.

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were closed again. Moving her head gently, she surprised him with a chaste kiss on the lips. His eyes opened in surprise and he groaned a little, returning her kiss, touching the back of her hair softly.

Breaking apart, he rested his forehead against hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Grace, I need you," he whispered, "I'm hopelessly in love with you."

She brushed half a kiss against his lips, and whispered into them, "I love you too, Roland."

His hand stroked the back of her hair and he simply embraced her. Her arms wrapped around his back.

The record had come to a halt but neither of them noticed.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

"For how long?" she wanted to know.

"As long as you want to," he replied, "For an hour. For the night. For something longer."

"For an affair?" she asked, almost surprising herself with her own directness.

"If that's what you want," he told her, "For longer, if you want. I'm not going to turn away from you, Grace. Whatever you ask of me is yours."

She rested her head back against his chest.

"I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to," she whispered in reply.

"Oh, my darling," she heard him whisper, his lips brushing her hair, "Oh my love."

His voice was so tender, it made her want to cry, almost. She felt her body heave a shakey sigh. His lips brushed her forehead again, he was inhaling the scent of her hair, his arms held her tightly, the sensations were dizzying and-...

"Take me to bed," she murmured, "Please, Roland."

He smiled at her.

"I'll do that gladly," he told her in reply.

Her hand fell seemlessly into his and he began leading her towards the bedroom door.

And then the door to the office opened.

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